


I know it's just a number but you're the eighth wonder

by CorgiOnARollerCoaster



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Gen, Sickfic, They’re both acting like children lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorgiOnARollerCoaster/pseuds/CorgiOnARollerCoaster
Summary: Dick’s sick. Set before their lives implode on them, so Dick’s Nightwing and Tim’s still an itty bitty Robin.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 55





	I know it's just a number but you're the eighth wonder

**Author's Note:**

> This story is hosted on Archive of Our Own, where you can read it for free. If you find this story anywhere else, it was posted without the consent of the author.

Dick can’t sleep. Every moment he spends awake is agony, but he just can’t sleep. It hurts to move, hurts to breathe, hurts to _think_. He can’t pay attention to the TV, and listening to music gives him a headache. So he lies on his bed, sweaty and miserable. And then he hears a familiar sound.

There’s someone breaking into his apartment. Dick should move, grab his escrima sticks from the hidden compartment at the side of the bed, his gun from the secret drawer in the nightstand. But even the thought of sitting up is exhausting, and he’s too tired to deal with a burglar. At least he hopes it’s a burglar. It would really suck if this were Slade. God forbid, _Batman_.

Then he hears a voice. “Dick? You home? I was thinking we could go train surfing. I’m ready for the curve at Seaisle now. Bruce kicked me out of the cave, said I should get out more - pot, meet kettle - Alfred’s in England, Barbara said I was too young to join Black Canary in Rheelasia and wouldn’t let me help her with their secret mission, Dad and Dana went for a couple’s getaway for the week, and Ives and Ariana are both grounded. Even Ms. Mac shooed me out of the house because I ‘need more vitamin D.’ If I get any paler, I’d look like a vampire, she says. Do you think she suspects something?”

Dick wants to reply, _Typical Bruce, good for Alfred, hope Babs and Dinah are okay, why do your parents keep leaving, sucks to be a teenager, you do need more vitamin D since you’re pale AF and no, I don’t think so, you’re just paranoid - this is why Bruce says you should get out more_. But all Dick could manage out loud was a low groan.

Something shatters in his kitchen and Dick winces at the sound. He’ll make Tim replace that later. “Dick, are you dying?” Tim’s panicking. Whoops. Tim skids to a stop a few feet after he raced through the doorway. “Are you injured? Where? Who kicked your butt? I’ll kick theirs.”

Dick feels a bit offended, but he lets it slide. He’s a grown-ass vigilante; he can kick his own butts, _thank you very much_. “Sick,” he grumbles out. God, his throat _hurts_.

“Oh. Uh, fever?” Tim puts his delightfully cold palm against his forehead and Dick hums in content. “Jeez, you’re hot.”

Dick tries to wink, but he’s pretty sure he just blinks instead. Tim leaves his side, and Dick embarrassingly lets out a small whine of protest. His little brother comes back with two bottles of water and a straw, as well as a damp face towel. Tim gently lifts Dick’s head as he drinks greedily, finishing the first bottle in minutes before sighing and letting his head down as Tim places the towel on his sweaty forehead. Some of the dizziness subsides. “Thanks Timmy.”

“No problem. I, uh, dropped one of your mugs. The red one. I’ll buy you a new one.”

The aforementioned red mug was a gag gift from Roy with the inscription: I have a dig bick. “It was ugly anyways.”

Tim snorts. “Hungry? You have any ibuprofen?”

Dick nods. “Second kitchen cabinet.”

“I’ll make you some soup. You wanna watch TV or something?”

Dick shakes his head. “Just talk to me. I want to hear your voice.”

Tim smiles. “Sure.” He gets up and starts telling him about his day, school, and night job on the way to the kitchen. Tim comes back shortly to give him an Advil, changes the towel for a new one, feeds him more water, then disappears. Dick hears the fridge opening, hears him rummage around for ingredients, and the stove turn on.

“So I was on patrol the other day,” Tim was chopping something up, “and there’s a kid walking about. At midnight. And he’s wearing lots of face paint, his whole head, neck and hands are blue. So I drop down and ask him, ‘Whatcha doin’ kid?’ And he says he’s looking for his cat. So I say, ‘What’s your cat’s name? What does it look like? I can help. Do you have a picture of your cat?’ And the kid’s like, ‘No I don’t do technology and whatnot,’ so I was confused because it’s easier and more effective to post missing pictures and phone number cutouts. I give him the standard, ‘you shouldn’t be out in the city at night by yourself because it’s dangerous for kids’ speech but he insists on finding his cat. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Anyways, his cat’s named Tickle, weird name but he’s kinda weird too so it’s a match made in heaven ....” Dick chuckles as Tim recounts the rest of the story.

“And that’s how I helped stop the apocalypse,” Tim says as he enters the bedroom with a steaming bowl of soup.

Dick sighs fondly, “Only you, Timmy.”

Tim helps him sit up, then grips the bowl in one hand and the spoon in the other. He smirks, “Here comes the choo choo train. _Chug-a-chug-a-choo-choo_.”

“Brat.” Dick rolls his eyes but lets Tim feed him. Chicken soup, hell yeah. “This is pretty good,” he smiles, “Bruce couldn’t’ve taught you this.”

Tim beams at him. “Dana did. She also taught me how to make pasta and mashed potatoes.”

“Tim, all you need to do is crush a vegetable and add salt and milk.”

“Dana’s has a secret ingredient to make them extra creamy. Don’t tell Alfred, but her potatoes are better than his.”

“Blasphemy. I’m telling him.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I will.” 

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I will.”

“Shut up,” Tim grumbles, “or I’m taking the soup away.”

“You wouldn’t do that to your poor, sick, bedridden brother, would you? I’ve suffered too much already.” Dick gives him his best puppy eyes: it had an 89% success rate on Bruce when he was younger. The good old days when he could convince Bruce to buy him doughnuts during the quiet times on patrol. Donna says she can’t resist the urge to hug him when he does it. Roy says he resembles a colonoscopy patient.

Tim seems to agree. “I’m suffering from being in the same room as you.”

Dick fakes a small cough, and Tim’s eyes go slightly wide and concerned before he grabs a water bottle and gently inserts the straw into Dick’s mouth. “C’mon, finish up the soup and then it’s nap time.” Score. _Oscars, here comes Dick Effing Grayson_.

He finishes the soup, which was delicious. He’ll have to bribe Tim to cook for him again some time soon. Maybe he should arrange a meeting with Ralph Dibny, the two detectives would get on like a house on fire. Tim has a poster of the Elongated Man in his bedroom (Dick noticed his little brother has more posters of a certain pants-less Robin than any other hero, so _Ted Kord, eat your heart out)_. The current Boy Wonder sets the bowl aside before giving him more water. When Dick is done, Tim crawls over and settles next to him.

“Might get you sick,” Dick protests. Tim shrugs and slides under the blanket to snuggle next to him, hugging Dick like an overgrown koala.

“S’okay, I have a strong immune system.”

Dick closes his eyes and sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love these two <3 First fic I’ve written (and completed and posted) in 5 years. Yay me!
> 
> Title’s from Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) by Fall Out Boy. I couldn’t decide what to title this and Spotify started playing this song so I just went with it.


End file.
